Who am I without a friend?

 

It’s held between my fingers, dripping spit and grass and twig,

Then I look into my doggy’s eyes, so doey brown and big.

 

Who am I to say to him, “This ball is really rotten”?

When he rests his head upon my knee, my troubles are forgotten.

 

Who am I to say to him, “There’s paw prints on my bed”?

When it makes me feel so fuzzy, just to see him tilt his head.

 

Who am I to say to him, “Stop digging up that garden”?

If he found some treasures, we’d be sure to give him pardon.

 

Who am I at all, without my favourite furry friend?

Even though he finds it fun to drive me round the barking bend.

 

Tamara Forge 2014  

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